


I'll Be Yours Until the Stars Fall From the Sky

by GubraithianFire



Category: Sherlock (TV)
Genre: Alternate Universe - Gender Changes, Angst, Angst with a Happy Ending, F/F, Femlock, Fix-it fic, Fluff, Fluff and Angst, Genderbending, Genderswap, John Loves Sherlock, Parentlock, Pining Sherlock, Post HLV, Post-Season/Series 03, Sherlock Loves John, mark morstan is an asshole :)
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2016-03-13
Updated: 2016-03-13
Packaged: 2018-05-26 11:50:14
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 2,364
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/6237442
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/GubraithianFire/pseuds/GubraithianFire
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>A post-HLV fix-it fic. Just femlock. </p><p>  <i>"Come meet your godson,” Joan murmurs softly, just a tad out of breath. </i></p><p>  <i> Sherlock takes a few steps forward, her hands shaking. This is ridiculous. It’s just a baby. </i></p><p>  <i>And yet, when her eyes meet his, she falls in love for the second time in her life."</i></p><p> <a href="http://www.efpfanfic.net/viewstory.php?sid=3531671">Translation into Italian available!</a></p>
            </blockquote>





	I'll Be Yours Until the Stars Fall From the Sky

**Author's Note:**

  * For [hammasluu](https://archiveofourown.org/users/hammasluu/gifts).



> Happy almost birthday, Julia! This is for you :) 
> 
> A super duper thank you to [shail](http://archiveofourown.org/users/shail/pseuds/shail) who helped me with this fic immensely, just how [Mssmithlove](http://archiveofourown.org/users/Mssmithlove/pseuds/Mssmithlove) and [ishaveforsherl](http://archiveofourown.org/users/ishaveforsherl) did. Thank you all, love you so much <3 xx

_“Elizabeth Sherlock Sofia Holmes._

_“Sorry?”_

_“That’s the whole of it – if you’re looking for baby names.”_

_“No, we’ve had a scan. We’re pretty sure it’s a boy.”_

_“Oh. Okay.”_

_“Yeah… Actually, I can’t think of a single thing to say.”_

_“No, neither can I.”_

_“…”_

_“Joan there’s something, I should say, I meant to say always and then I never have. Since it’s unlikely we’ll ever meet again, I might as well say it now. Sherlock is actually a boy’s name.”_

_“It’s not.”_

_“It was worth a try.”_

_“We’re not naming our son after you.”_

_“I think it could work.”_

_“…”_

_“To the very best of times, Joan.”_

**_MISS ME?_ **

****

\-----------------------------------------------------------------------------------

 

Sherlock paces the length of the hospital waiting room.

She can hear Joan scream.

Joan in pain, Joan crying and Sherlock can’t help her, she can’t do anything…

Then, suddenly, a baby wailing.

Sherlock’s head snaps up, her lips part in wonder. That sound is the sound of Joan Watson’s son.

The door opens, and Mark Morstan pokes his head out.

“She’s asking about you,” he simply says, a huge grin on his lips.

Sherlock nods faintly, and as in a dreamlike state of mind, she walks inside the room.

Joan is looking for her with her eyes, a tired smile playing on her thin, pink lips. Her blue eyes are sparkling, her skin glistening with sweat, her cheeks red roses.

Sherlock can’t take her eyes off her.

“Come meet your godson,” Joan murmurs softly, just a tad out of breath.

Sherlock takes a few steps forward, her hands shaking. This is ridiculous. It’s just a baby.

And yet, when her eyes meet his, she falls in love for the second time in her life.

“He’s beautiful,” she breathes, because Scott Morstan is. He looks like a miniaturised version of Joan, how could he not?

“Do you want to hold him?” Joan asks, Mark’s arm lazily draped around her shoulders.

Sherlock doesn’t even have the time to say ‘No,’ that Mark is placing Scott in her arms.

The baby is surprisingly _light_ , and he looks so fragile Sherlock is afraid she might break him.

“Don’t look so scared,” Mark laughs, and Sherlock tries to smile at the comment, but she probably grimaces, for Joan lets out a booming laugh.

“Oh, Sherlock,” she says, and Sherlock feels her heart clench.

Joan can’t say her name like that.

Full of fondness and affection, amused and exasperated.

Sherlock feels like dying every time.

 

*

 

It takes Joan a while to go back on cases with Sherlock. And even then, she takes the baby with her, and only follows cases that can be solved from inside 221B.

She and Scott have become a whole new entity.

Sherlock observes as Joan breastfeeds her son whilst trying to crack a code made of dancing little men. Sherlock loves her in a desperately unspoken, aching way.

She’d do anything for her, even watch her build a life with her husband, who had tried to kill Sherlock.

Joan lifts her eyes from the dancing men and smiles warmly at Sherlock.

Sherlock starts, and gets back to work.

 

*

 

One evening, Joan and Scott show up in 221B while Sherlock is playing her violin.

“Can we stay?” Joan asks tiredly, and Sherlock doesn’t need to deduce anything. The fight she and Mark just had is plain as day.

Sherlock just nods, and Joan drags herself on the stairs to her old room.

“Thank you, Sherlock.”

 

*

 

“We could leave Scott with Mr. Hudson.”

“Joan, it could be dangerous.”

“You know those words have the opposite effect on me.”

Sherlock groans, passing a hand through her long, curly hair.

“If something happens to you-”

“You’ll have my back, won’t you? Then I’ll be fine.”

Joan looks determined, so Sherlock just nods and together they exit 221B, stopping briefly in 221A to bid goodbye to Scott.

Then, Joan and Sherlock are off, and god, is it glorious.

They run through London, and Joan even manages to tackle a jewel thief to the ground. Sherlock is just a tiny bit aroused. Just a tinsy bit.

They go back to Baker Street all sweaty and breathless with laughter.

They lean on the same wall where they had leant on all those years ago. And laugh.

“Thank you for today,” Joan whispers eventually, reaching up to kiss Sherlock’s cheek.

Sherlock startles, and looks down in shock at Joan. But the woman has already disappeared in 221A. Sherlock touches her cheek. It burns.

And a few seconds later, it’s also wet with her tears.

 

*

 

It takes Sherlock one look at Joan to know that things with Mark are going bad. She can see in every crinkle on Joan’s face Mark’s absence, their fights, their uneasiness with each other.

“Stop deducing me,” Joan sighs, handing Scott to Sherlock.

Sherlock, now used to holding the tiny human, places him on her hip and smiles at him.

“Hello little man,” she says, rubbing her nose with his.

Joan watches the exchange with an unreadable expression. Then she passes a hand through her short, golden hair.

“I need a favour,” she finally says, and Sherlock perks up at the tone.

“Everything,” Sherlock replies.

Joan nods, a sad smile playing at her lips. “I need you to ask Mycroft to investigate on Mark.”

“Why not me?” Sherlock asks, affronted.

Joan laughs a little, “Mycroft has more connections than you do.”

Sherlock huffs, annoyed. “Why would you want that fat arsehole to dig up some dirt about your husband, anyway.”

“I have my suspicions.”

“Can’t you talk to me?”

John sighs deeply, reaching out to Scott. Sherlock hands her the baby and then crosses her arms, waiting.

“I told you, you can trust Mark. Had he wanted to kill me, I’d be dead.”

Joan groans, “He shot you.”

Sherlock panics.

All she wants is for Joan to be happy, and she chose Mark, and Sherlock has given him to her, _lying_ even, saying that Mark had missed her heart when he had hit just right, and now Joan is trying to throw it all away…

“No. No, I told you, it was surgery.”

Joan shakes her head. “Whatever you say.”

Then she picks up her stuff and flies out of 221B with Scott.

 

*

 

“And why would I do that?” The pompous arse asks.

Joan grits her teeth.

“I live with the man, Mycroft,” she spits out, full of rage.

Mycroft sighs, a deep intake of air that seems to last forever. She pinches the bridge of her nose.

“I just- please, I just need to know.”

“I will look into Mr. Morstan’s past, then.”

“Thank you.”

 

*

 

Sherlock isn’t rational when it comes to Joan. She knows that.

But she’d never, not in a million years, suspected that her best friend and her sister would team up behind her back.

They are both waiting in 221B, the two of them with DI Greta Lestrade, when Sherlock comes home.

She stops in her track, equally confused and annoyed at being confused. She doesn’t like not knowing what’s going on.

So she doesn’t ask.

She just cocks an eyebrow in the women’s direction.

It’s then that she notices just how pale Joan looks, how scared. And Scott is not with her.

“Where’s Scott?” Sherlock asks, panicked.

It’s Lestrade who answers.

“Mark Morstan has kidnapped Scott this morning,” she murmurs.

Sherlock feels cold dread running down her spine.

_“From now on, I’ll always be there. For all three of you.”_

At Joan’s wedding she had vowed to protect them all, and had _failed._

“No,” Sherlock shakes her head, unable to process.

Mycroft clears her throat. “My best men are already on the case.”

Sherlock grits her teeth.

“They are not. I’m going to look for him too, Mycroft. Don’t you try to keep me out of this.”

Mycroft passes a hand through her auburn hair. “I wouldn’t dream of it.”

“Lestrade, what are our leads?” Sherlock immediately asks, and they set to work.

Joan lets out a single sob and doesn’t say a word for the whole day.

 

*

 

“Can I sleep with you?”

“Of course you can. Everything you need.”

 

*

 

“Joan?”

Mycroft’s voice is static through the phone.

“Yeah?”

“I’m afraid my sister has let her… affection for you to blind her.”         

Joan sucks in a breath.

“What the fuck do you mean?”

Mycroft lets out a sigh, like she always does when she thinks you’re being thick as wood.

“I’m afraid Mr. Morstan might have had some affiliations with Jane Moriarty.”

Joan gasps.

“That’s impossible, Sherlock would’ve told me-”

“Consider this, Joan; Sherlock might not be the hero you build her up to be. She can be wrong, especially for the right reasons.”

 

*

 

It’s three days later that Sherlock has a lead. She has barely slept, except those few times, Joan holding onto her tightly.

Sherlock doesn’t read too much into it; Joan is scared for her son, she’s been betrayed by the man she loves. She is just looking for comfort, and Sherlock is the nearest source of human warmth. Nothing more.

What Sherlock finds is the footage of Mark waving at a CCTV camera in Leinster Gardens. Where everything began, where the empty house is.

Scott is nowhere to be seen.

“He’s deliberately challenging us,” Sherlock spits out, slamming her cup of coffee on 221B’s coffee table.

It’s 5am, and no one has slept yet.

Joan paces the room, her jaw set, her hands balled up into fists.

“Well, now we know where he is,” Lestrade says.

Sherlock shakes her head. “We don’t know where Scott is, though.”

“Let’s ask the bastard,” the DI growls.

“Could be the wrong move. Could be a trap.”

“I don’t fucking care!” Joan suddenly yells, drawing the attention of Sherlock and Greta.

“I don’t care if it’s a trap or not, all I want is to get my son back. Mark waving at us? He wants us to find him, so let’s _find him_.”

Sherlock would do anything for Joan. Even this.

She gets up and gets her Belstaff.

“Bring your guns,” she tells the women, leading them out of 221B.

 

*

 

“Mark, let her go or I swear I will kill you.”

“I’d like to see you kill the father of your son.”

“Mark. Let. Her. Go.”

“She killed Jane, you know. She was the love of my life. Now you’re going to suffer the way I did, Joan.”

“Sherlock!”

Two shots echo.

 

*

 

“Sherlock, oh god Sherlock, can you hear me?”

“J-Joan?”

“Sherlock, stay with me. Keep your eyes open.”

“Joan, the thing I wanted to say, back on the tarmac. I-I need you to know what I wanted to say. I might not have another chance.”

“Shh, Sherlock shut up. You’ll make it through, you’ll make it through. You have to. You can’t leave me again.”

“No, Joan, please l-listen. I love you. I’ve always had and always will.”

Darkness.

 

*

 

Brightness. Too much of it.

Too much white everywhere.

Paper-like sheets.

Something in her nose.

A scratching in her throat.

A blinding pain in her shoulder.

If this is Heaven, Sherlock would rather be in Hell.

“Sherlock?”

Joan.

Sherlock tries to say her name, but it’s too much effort, and everything fades.

 

*

 

Sherlock wakes up in a hospital room.

“Joan?” She calls, because that’s the first thing her drugged mind thinks to say.

“She’s with Scott now,” Mycroft’s high-pitched voice replies.

Sherlock tries to sit up, but arms hold her down.

“Get off me, Mycroft.”

Her sister sighs. “Welcome back.”

“What happened?” Sherlock immediately asks, for she doesn’t remember anything.

Mycroft fiddles with her umbrella, perched as she is on a plastic chair beside Sherlock’s head.

“You mean since you, DI Lestrade and Dr. Watson found Mark Morstan?”

Sherlock nods.

“You found Mr. Morstan outside that empty house of yours. You heard Scott crying, so Mrs. Lestrade ran inside the house, while you and Joan fought with the man. That was exactly his plan though. There were two of his men inside the house, and outside he managed to tackle you to the ground and point a gun at your head. Joan shot him, and he shot you. He missed your head for so little…” Mycroft takes a deep breath.

“Right then my men arrived and helped Lestrade retrieve young Scott, while Dr. Watson kept you alive.”

Sherlock vaguely remembers Mark pointing his gun at her heart, and Joan pointing hers at Mark.

“Is Mark… Is Mark dead? And Scott is safe, right?”

“Mark Morstan, former partner and lover of Jane Moriarty, is dead. Scott is safe.”

Sherlock nods. She is starting to remember-

Shit.

She had told Joan she loved her.

That’s probably why Joan isn’t there now, she doesn’t want to see Sherlock ever again, oh no…

As if on cue, the door opens. Joan peers inside, Scott on her hip.

“You’re finally awake, sleepyhead,” she smiles as she enters, placing Scott on the duvet beside Sherlock’s uninjured shoulder.

Sherlock lifts her hand, feeling tears prickle in her eyes.

Scott is _safe._

“Hey, crumble,” she croaks out.

“Mycroft, could you give us a moment?”

Sherlock shuts her eyes.

Here it comes. The moment Joan tells her she doesn’t feel the same way, the moment Sherlock has always feared.

A hand on her cheek.

Sherlock’s eyes fly open.

“Sherlock, you know I find it difficult, this sort of stuff. But… God, Sherlock, I need you to know, I love you too. With all my heart.”

Tears.

 

*

 

“Mama! Mummy! It’s Christmas!”

Sherlock burrows her face deeper in her wife’s chest, groaning.

“Scott,” Joan says, sleepily. She shifts.

“It’s bloody 5am,” she groans, exasperated.

Sherlock shares the sentiment.

“I want to open my presents! Come and see what Father Christmas brought me!”

Then he jumps off the bed and disappears.

“He’s your son, you deal with him,” Sherlock murmurs.

Joan laughs softly.

“You’re his mama, so get your arse up and go. I need some more sleep.”

“Joan?”

“Hmm?”

“I love you.”

Joan smiles, caressing her cheek.

“I’ll never get tired of hearing you say it, love.”

Sherlock hides her grin in Joan’s neck, listening to the sound of their son bouncing excitedly around the Christmas tree.

“I love you,” Joan says, and Sherlock breathes.

**Author's Note:**

> Please leave a comment if you enjoyed, and see you next time! :)


End file.
